


Violin Music

by RileyAnnaOlson



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 08:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6604219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyAnnaOlson/pseuds/RileyAnnaOlson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is not used to being strong or supportive for other people, but when Eponine appears in a dreadful mood, he does what he can to raise her spirits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Violin Music

On this day, Grantaire was uninterested in the doings of Les Amis, so he was hiding. He was partway through an experiment in sobriety, which made him irritable, and the idea of listening to Enjolras be oh, so perfect boiled his blood.

Also, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all himself, having the only people he cared for see him in this state would be humiliating. He didn't mind them considering him a slacker, a drunk, a libertine, or all three, as long as they didn't think he disliked them, and who knew how he might act in this state? Due to this, he took a table in the back of Café Lemblin, consoled by the excellent coffee that kept coming to his table and tormented by the excellent wine that kept not coming.

Éponine found him after his fourth cup of coffee. "Good morning, monsieur," she said, sounding as grouchy as he felt. She pulled the coffeepot toward herself and motioned the waitress to bring another cup. "What's new with you?"

He straightened up, seeing she was in a bad state. "I'm making a valiant effort to distance myself from the alcohol that has been my sustenance these many years and regretting it tremendously. You?"

"I haven't eaten since day before yesterday, my parents aren't speaking - unless they're screaming at one another, and I'd like to shoot M. Marius Pontmercy."

This last was so unexpected Grantaire no longer had to pretend to be awake. "You'd like to - what?" Éponine was on the verge of tears. "Come along, 'Ponine, speak to me," he cajoled, leaning forward.

She had just opened her mouth when the bell over the door rang and five men entered. Éponine instinctively turned to inspect the newcomers. "Pardieu!" she hissed, whipping back around so quickly her hair hit Grantaire's face. "It's my father! I'm supposed to be casing a joint. If he finds me he'll beat me within an inch of my life!" The terror in her eyes convinced him she was in no way exaggerating.

He took her wrist. "Come home with me."

"Monsieur, are you propositioning me?"

"Some other time, mademoiselle," he said, keeping his eyes on Thénardier. He dragged her out of her seat and through the swinging kitchen door. The cook suggested he complain elsewhere, but he silenced her with a glare and marched to the exit, Éponine trailing after.

Grantaire's flat wasn't far, and within minutes the children tumbled through the front door. Éponine's mood had not improved, but Grantaire felt better, having effected a heroic rescue despite the haze of sobriety. She sank into a ball at the foot of his bed, and he sat just behind her. "What's this I hear about shooting Marius?"

"He's a fool. He's in love with a rich girl who lives in a flower garden and breathes in love poems," she growled savagely. "They share air every night and that's all he could possibly desire for happiness." Hot, angry tears spilled over her lashes and her shoulders heaved. Instinctively, Grantaire twisted her hair in his fingers. This calmed her, though she remained tense and continued her tirade in a low voice. "...what can I expect, people like him have to have standards..." He made a noise of agreement and wondered whether he would ever prefer coffee to absinthe. "...My mother knows all about this sort of thing, I should talk to her. You can bet she knows where to find a gun..." Grantaire made a noise he hoped did not convey agreement and wondered whether getting Marius drunk enough to have a tryst with Éponine would satisfy her. Marius was a nice kid who could be counted on to buy a drink for a friend. He'd hate to see him shot.

Éponine looked up abruptly. "What are you doing?" she asked.

Grantaire realized he wasn't entirely sure. However, Éponine's hair was in a nice braid down her back when it hadn't been before. He assumed that must be it. He put it over her shoulder for her to see. She laughed.

"I didn't know you were a hairdresser," she said, standing. "You're full of surprises, Monsieur."

"Prouvaire taught me," he said. "He said it might come in useful someday."

"Clever boy," she said.

Grantaire stood and put his arms around her tiny waist. "You're a good child," he said. "Don't you forget it."

She threw her own little arms around his neck. "It's a good thing I've got you," she said matter-of-factly. "Who knows where I'd be if I hadn't someone to tell my heart to."

A strain of music played in the street. As the tune blew through the open window, Grantaire began to dance, dragging Éponine after him. The violinist in the street below played faster and more powerfully, and Éponine laughed, a breathless giggle so much better than her previous wrath that Grantaire too laughed of relief. The two of them whirled around the room, laughing and spinning. At first they were running more than dancing, but Grantaire felt like showing off, and he led her through increasingly complicated dances as the unknown violinist accompanied their revels. The two leapt over bed and table and stumbled into walls, until at last they collapsed into Grantaire's one chair together, laughing until their sides ached.

"Now," said Grantaire, breathing heavily, "I don't want to hear any more nonsense about shooting Marius, understand?" Éponine nodded and rested her head on his chest. As the energy of the moment faded he saw her sinking back into gloom and he thought fast. An idea struck him. It was likely a bad idea. It was definitely a bad idea. "Éponine, let us drink together."

"I thought you were staying sober?" she asked.

"I'm tired of being sensible, and what better reason to return to foolishness than to help a friend forget her troubles?"

"I can't afford it," she said flatly. A close observer could tell she did not like to admit it.

"Then I'm buying," he said, and her face lit up. Poor thing; no one ever showed her compassion. And of all people, she relied upon him! For once in the young man's life, the roles were reversed, and he offered strength and kindness to another. Perhaps it would do him good in the long run. What would do him good in the immediate moment, however, would be taking Éponine to the Corinthe and drowning sorrows over the best wine he could afford.


End file.
